


Snowed In

by Ethanol



Category: South Park
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, pls help me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-04-25 20:24:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14386428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethanol/pseuds/Ethanol
Summary: The temperature grows colder, and their furnaces can't keep them warm forever.





	1. It Kept Coming

"It's suicide!"

A gloved hand slammed harshly against a long table, the noise bouncing off the walls and throughout the desolate building, every room and hall stripped bare of its contents, leaving this the only room with any form of furniture. A rickety, wooden long table with pairing chairs lining its sides, though the condition looks a bit worse for wear, a mixture of weary and uncertain eyes dart amongst each other inside the long room, silence meeting the cry of protest aside from the howling winds that threatened to tear off the plywood boarding the windows.

"That may be, but we cannot just leave them out there to die!" Another voice called out from one end of the table, its source of origin shooting up from his seat to shoot a glare at a particular man who was bundled up with a mishmash of winter clothes. The only remnant of his former life being a police badge that reflected light from a small heater that sat in one corner of the room, weakly humming away. Seeming to be growing fearful from the howls of the outside.

"Damn it... I told Stephen to not go alone. I told him that the temperature was dropping even further and Jack Frost was coming."

At another corner, the town's geologist, Randy Marsh, cursed under his breath, heaving a cold breath before exhaling it slowly as he planted his elbows on the old table, the small added weight making the old thing groan in complaint. The man next to him gave him a consoling pat on the shoulder, his own gaze shifting to the empty seat adjacent to where he was. Feeling the air grow colder, and it probably was in the literal sense, Mr. Mackey spoke up, wiping frost from his glasses.

"Now, if we don't at least do something, the rest of the town is going to think that we just abandon our own, mmkay?"

"Look, for all we know they might all be dead." Gerald Broflovski interjected, speaking up for what some of the council's members were thinking. It wasn't anybody's fault that the Stotch family were stranded somewhere out in the cold, with temperatures properly below freezing that left many with little chance of survival. _If anything, it's their fault for just upping and going on an expedition without waiting for this storm to let up._

But they all had been waiting.

5 years, to be exact.

It was a seemingly normal winter for South Park. Well, as normal as it could've gotten, anyway. Christmas lights were being strung up by happy faces and cheery children, the usual frantic shopper would stop a little more than usual to give spare change to the multitude of homeless people that took up shelter in alleyways and underneath shop facades, and only two things noteworthy had unfolded during the holiday season, marking it as the first Christmas that the city has had in a while that was anywhere close to the word, "normal." But that was not natural, and they should've known better. On New Year's Eve, a massive snowstorm hit the state of Colorado, the storm engulfing the entirety of the area, along with its neighboring states. The winds were too harsh for anybody to celebrate outdoors, so most spent their new year inside, warming up against their heaters and fireplaces thinking that this event was only a fluke to kick off the year, and things would only get better from here. _But it didn't._

The cold front grew stronger, winds blowing throughout the country. Before anybody knew it, even Florida was having a snowstorm of their own. The middle states had taken the full brunt of the storm, and anywhere above that were presumed to be dead. Yes, even Canada wouldn't be able to survive this weather. The middle states were given an announcement that every road, highway, port and, river had been put out of commission due to the steadying decreasing temperature and that its citizens had to "ride out" the storm. _It was doable_ , everyone thought. The cold wasn't hard enough to restrict people from leaving their homes, not without proper clothing, and everyone expected the storm to die down within the next few days or so.

Everything was going to turn out fine, like always.

But that was 5 years ago, and everything has only gone from bad to worse.

 

 

"We can't just list them off as lost causes! Write their names on some tombstones and call it a day!" Another council member shouted from his seat, growing irritated from the pessimistic thoughts and words that were thrown around the room. Just because they were lost, they would never be found. _Just because they might be dead, doesn't mean that we can't do anything to stop it._ Once again, silence fell upon the room, the plywood rattling against the frames of former windows, every carom looking like the wooden barricades were just going to get blown off.

"Well! what can we do? Throw on clothes and wander around for god-knows how long just to find a few people?!" The city planner countered in a dismissive tone, her cold expression blatantly stating that she was against any plans regarding rescue operations or the like to look for the lost expedition. Mrs. Testaburger had already gone through enough backlash after the failed attempts to pave a path through the walls of snow that layered roads and highways to other settlements. Not only had the city wasted precious resources on its efforts, the snow plows had to be abandoned on the side of the road just outside of South Park due to the cold freezing up the gas.

 _This city cannot afford any more setbacks._ It seems like the more they try to shovel through the snow, the more they have to shovel up holes for graves. With a dejected sigh, the city's attorney stood up from his seat, giving everyone a moment's glance, though his gaze settled on Randy's uneasy face for a few moments longer. Holding his hands up to draw level with his head, as if signaling that he was out of ideas, a few other heads nodding somberly, their movements slow. God, this room, and its atmosphere couldn't get any colder. Until the mayor finally spoke from her seat, hands linked together on the table at her front, in a voice that made people's heads drop low in either guilt or uselessness.

"She's right. We cannot lose any more people."

"FUCK."

A hard slam caused the old table to shudder and creak, the plentiful beatings it was forced to be put through was probably putting the old thing past its breaking point, but it still stood. Just like the town.

Aside from all the shit it has gone through, it still stood. Just like South Park.

"Pardon me, mayor. But I think I can help with our little problem, here."

A groggy voice spoke out after the noise of the pound had melted away into the howling wind in the background. The figure leaning forward to settle his arms on the table, eyeing everyone's expressions, mostly met with furrowed brows and long sighs. He shrugged it off, though, turning his attention to the mayor instead, who returned the gesture, continuing his words after the words "go on" dropped from her lips, which had faded marks of red lipstick.

"These 'ere city folk won't last three days out d'ere in the cold. Y'all need to send a group that won't just freeze like a popsicle." Standing up from his seat, his chair creaking against the old wooden floor, he reached forward to tap on a faded nameplate that was in front of him, that used to belong to a former member of the city's council. Before that member had shot himself. The rest of the members leaned over to make out the name of the position, proving to be slightly difficult due to the rust that has partially covered the whole thing. But if one squinted, they could make out what it said after a second or three.

"...Homeless adviser? How are a bunch of drug-using hobos gonna solve anything?" Harrison Yates spoke up, shooting a look of distrust on the scraggly man's face. The more he looked at him, the more he looked like a homeless person himself. The man's shabby looking coat, a multitude of dirt-covered scarves, patch marks, and alcohol stains evident as if to confirm his thoughts, though the red hat he wore with the bolded "SCOTCH" sprawled across the front was familiar.

"No one takes the cold better than a bunch o' people who sleep on the street every night."

The man retorted with a slight slur. He was probably drunk, everyone in the room could practically smell the alcohol on his breath if it wasn't coming from the stain on his clothes. But he had a point, every winter, storm, or drought, the homeless people would find a way to survive so they can pester passersby by asking for spare change. 5 years ago the citizens of South Park hoped that they'd all die out so that they wouldn't have to bother with the unsightly look of filth on their charming, well-developed streets. But that was 5 years ago, and instead of charming city streets, they only have snow.

"So what do you plan to propose?"

The mayor couldn't help but ask, seeing his point but not knowing where this conversation was going, the same could be said for everyone else judging from their expressions alone. With a smirk, the man cleared his throat before pointing out to the loud windows, his free hand planted on the table before he spoke out what he thought was a great plan. Any plan was better than no plan at this point.

"I could put together a team that can go get our lost lambs back. Just gimme' some food, water, guns, torches and we're good t' go!"

The rest of the council exchanged looks, not really sure what to feel about the proposed plan of action. There would be no downside if it would fail since the only thing they'd lose was the homeless people, and for the city, that sounds more like a benefit than it is a loss. But, there was always morality-

"Yeah! That sounds like a great idea!" Tossing aside any moral conflictions, Randy chimed over at his corner of the table, his gaze darting to everybody else in the room to agree with him. _It'll get rid of one problem, and possibly solve another,_ he thought. Gerald being the first one to catch on what he was going for and lightly pounding his balled fist on the table as well. "You're right! It's so obvious!" After an awkward moment, one by one, the members soon sounded mumbles of agreement, Mayor McDaniels standing from her seat slowly while they did, raising her hand to quiet down the small crowd.

"All right, all right. Tonight, we will hold a meeting at the community center about our plan to get the Stotches back!" Hopeful smiles played across the faces of the council, held breaths being breathed out as a semblance of a solution was being put into action, but most of them were towards the eradication of the homeless people rather than actually saving a poor family stranded out in the cold. However, this looked to be their only shot at saving those people. Anything was better than nothing at this point, the rest of them thought, furthering their discussion on the proposed plan, along with other concerns of the freezing city.

But what they thought didn't matter to him as he left his seat with a slurred "thanks" before leaving the room. Because Stuart knew that no one else can handle harsh environments and dangers like the homeless populace can. Them, and the McCormicks.


	2. Failed Adjustments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gray skies dull the mind's sense of day and night, and soon they forget that things can still age in the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hallo friends im still here yay
> 
> i hope y'all are enjoying it, or not. that's also fine  
> it's pretty fun writing this, i'm also interested to see where this all goes 
> 
> enjoy

Innumerable flakes of frost fall from the grey heaven unto the nearly pure white landscape, draping everything in a thick sheet of cold, stretching as far as the eye could see if it'd be given the blessing of looking past the kicked up snow due to the harsh winds that only seemed to shroud the small town in a world of white. 

More than it did, already. South Park and its citizens had to discard its former way of living in order to adapt to the unrelenting cold, and ultimately survive. Give or take, five years had passed and everyone here had only started to adjust to the severe drop in temperature, grasping the ropes of survival in this type of climate. Getting to this part was not easy, ask anybody around, _many of us are lucky to be even alive right now._ What South Park had taken for granted; the painfully bright grass that reflected the rays of sunlight during the summer, Stark's Pond, unfrozen and perfect for skipping stones along its still waters, the perfect near-sunny weather for children to enjoy their childhood, for teens to make wild memories, whisper sweet nothings and party recklessly until the police showed up. All of this, and more. The annoying heat and mud of summer, the golden atmosphere of autumn that littered streets, roofs and served as a source of income for kids looking for a quick buck through raking leaves, and even the bizarre activities that plagued the town more often than it should.

 

All of this is now _gone._ And what replaced such color was a scene of white, grey and black. As if all happiness that South Park once had was hidden away underneath layers and layers of snow. But no matter how far you dig, you can't even find a speckle of the former palette of sunshine. But although the world seemed bleak, the town continued to push on. Instead of grieving over old memories, they used it as fuel to feed fires. Warm fires that seep heat into houses, businesses, and shelters. These small flickers of light in every building representing the hope that maybe, just maybe, one day this cold will dissipate, and the sun will bask us in its warmth once again.

 

"Ay! That's not fair!" A whine echoed through, the noise loud enough, or to better word it, annoying enough to beat the howling wind. Not far from city hall were six children running around the snow-laden field, clad in heavy coats, a good number of them donning on winter hats to protect them from the depressing weather. _At least, sunshine comes in more ways than one._

"That counts and you know it, Cartman!" Another voice from one of the children rang out in disagreement, his hands quickly digging into the ground to fist a handful of snow, then forming a ball to throw at an unfortunate other in their group. But before he could throw his quickly-made arsenal, one of the same variety comes into contact with his left cheek, causing him to stumble and his lime green hat to be knocked askew. His livid reaction prompted chuckles from the rest of them, though there was one who wasn't laughing and wasn't wearing nearly enough clothing to keep them warm. Curiosity getting the better of him, Stuart McCormick strolled over to the group of children nearby, letting out a long breath through his teeth when he realized that he wasn't looking at a group of children anymore. It's been five years, and the children of South Park weren't children anymore. Especially due to the requirement to shape up because of the harsh style of living. Stopping just a few yards away from the apparent battlefield of snow and the occasional rocks that were being thrown around the six boys, Stuart brought a hand to his face, cupping it around his mouth before calling out to all of them.

"You kids should be gettin' inside now, it's gettin' dark out!" His voice fell upon deaf ears for most of them, except for one of them, who was draped in rather expensive-looking winter clothes concealing most of his dark-toned skin save for his head, his purple mittens dropping the snowball that he was midway through throwing, giving the shaggy looking adult a weird look, as if what he said was out of the ordinary. _His clothes are too fancy for my taste._

"It's always dark out, Mr. McCormick." His reply was short, in a matter-of-fact tone. The other boys nodding in agreement, then the largest one of them rekindled the battle through hurling a bullet of frost at one of the only two Jewish kids of this town, earning from him a loud cry of anger as he tried to gather up enough snow to retaliate, the rest getting back into their little game. _Well, they weren't gon' start list'nin' to an alcoholic trash like me anyhow._

Adjusting his worn out cap, Stuart's eyes danced along each of them to discern their identities, recognizing a few of them just by seeing the color of the clothes they wore. _There were my boy's good friends, Stan Marsh, Kenny Broflovski and.. I guess that Eric Cartman kid is also apart of 'em._ He questioned himself for the last boy but didn't delve further as his gaze wandered to the latter three, which took him a little more time to find out, having to rummage through his mind that was half-drowning in Pabst Blue Ribbon before he fished out the correct names.

Wearing a maroon coat with a brown fur hood, young Clyde Donovan laughed boisterously, indulging in their games, going as far as to pocket balls of snow in the pockets of his clothes to keep a few extra ammo for the fight. _He wasn't the smartest of the bunch if I recall._ The next he recognized, his clothes looking like he just bought them last week, was the Black family's only child, Token Black, who looked more concentrated and focused in comparison to the lighthearted expression of the Donovan boy, but he was told that Token was that sort of person by default. Determined, calculated, and driven. _Everything I'm not._

But, the last child initially registered as an anomaly to Stuart, cocking his head to the side in an attempt to recognize who it was. He wasn't wearing anything special or distinguishable, just an old, tattered beige sweater with patches dotted around the fabric, the wearer slunk against a tree trunk, facing towards the rest of the boys, but didn't participate in their game. Not even a flinch as a few rocks and snowballs landed around him or plinked against the tree's hard bark, his head hung low with his knees bent in front of him, sandy-blond hair hiding most of his face and-

_Ahh. How could I not recognize my own son?_

 

Feeling guilt pinch against his stomach, Stuart stuck a hand inside the left pocket of his coat, taking out a rusted flask, screwing it open before taking a quick swig, downing its contents, instantly drowning that pain down to a numb feeling that left the man warm before he started towards the dejected blond. His steel-toed boots crushing the frost underneath with a crinkling noise, but even that didn't earn a reaction from the boy, who seems to have resigned himself to sulking out in the cold, probably not caring if he just froze to death. _I bet he's counting on it._

"Hey." The father muttered in a more aggressive tone that he intended, rubbing the back of his neck as he felt the air around them grew colder. After confirming that his son wasn't acknowledging his presence, he gave his knee a light tap with his boots. "...I don't have spare change, dad." A dreary reply greeted him, still not bothering to look up at him, or for anything else. Stuart's initial wonder was the whereabouts of Kenny's trademark orange parka, the same parka that he had countless of in a drawer back at his old rundown house. But there was more of a pressing matter, _what's gotten him so upset?_ Kenny McCormick usually tackles things with a can-do, happy go lucky attitude, fearing absolutely nothing, always unscathed with a goofy smirk on his face by the end of it, the amount of shit the blond's seen should have been enough to leave him unfazed about most things. Stuart understood this to an extent, so finding his son in this state is peculiar, if not worrying.

"Ah, don't worry 'bout that, already borrowed some from yer' sister." The scraggly man joked, hoping it'd get through to the boy in any way, holding his breath in anticipation of either being accepted or being asked to go away, the latter being more likely than the former. To his surprise, a weary chuckle escaped Kenny's breath, his head slowly moving up to give his old man a blank, almost broken stare. Stuart locked gazes with him for a few seconds, the nearby sounds of the other boys playing their game fading away, replaced with only the breezing winds, tasting the frost on his chapped lips as the drunk squatted down next to his son, who didn't grace the gesture with any sort of response, other than the same blank stare he's been giving him all this time. "Now.. Mind tellin' me what's wrong?"

A laugh tumbled out of the blond's lips, his look scrunching up to one in almost disbelief as he looked off to what was in front of him, treating his father's words as more of a joke than a question. "Why does it matter to ya? And since when is anything _not_ wrong?"

"You sure as hell don't sulk about what's wrong, must be something important."

"You're not drunk enough, old man."

"No amount of booze's gon' hide from me that empty look on yer' face, son."

 

Kenny fell silent after that, either he ran out of clever retorts, or he was confused at the fact that the man in front of him was being something he's failed at being at for years. _A father._ "Now, are ya gon' try to become the next park statue or are ya gon' tell me what's wrong?"

The sandy-blond let out a long exhale, making a sound as if he was deflating, sucking in a cold breath through his teeth before he pointed his nose at the whiteness. "Uh... Butters said he.. Needed a new coat for his family's 'quick' trip.." He started, emphasizing the word 'quick' with air quotes that he made with his hands, dropping his arms in favor of pulling his knees closer to his chest before continuing, "And I seem to have an endless supply of those damn parkas... So what's losing one more, right?" Kenny started to laugh before his voice got caught in his throat along with his repressed frustrations, pushing the rest of it out with a low groan. Stuart listened in silence as his son tried to cope his inner turmoil, nodding his head slowly, understanding what was the cause of what left his usually carefree child in shambles. _He thinks it's his fault they're stranded out there, huh?_

He copies what he mutters in his mind to the real world, the tone in his groggy voice deep and understanding, which provoked a shiver from the boy. Stuart took the bodily movement as a confirmation to his words and a reaction from the pervading cold. The man shifts his boots to stand up slowly, slipping his coat off, the sound of the heavy fabric falling onto his arms was enough of an anomaly to make the boy look up, but what met his sight was darkness, Kenny's arms soon swimming in the foul-smelling coat, eventually ripping the old thing away from him, heaving a heavy breath of fresh air, a look of frustration plastered across his expression before shooting his gaze upwards at his father, who eyed him with an odd gaze, an odd gaze to the sandy-haired blond, anyway.

"Use this for now, and git' on home. I'll find your old one soon." Stuart promised, his face shifting into an expression that Kenny had never seen before, aside from when the same man above him would down an entire tower of beer by himself during late nights all those years ago, those nights often ending in heated arguments between him and his mother.

It was a look of pride and assurance, and the blond boy wasn't sure on how to return that sort of look from this specific person. The expression was foreign to his father's face, but it looked good on him.

"Dad-" Kenny attempted, but was cut off by a large hand ruffling his hair, the same hand lightly shoving his head back into the fabric, a chuckle could be heard above him, but soon started to drift away as the hand left his hair as well. Looking back up, the boy watched his father walk away, heading in the direction of what used to be Shi Tpa Town. The wind's harsh gusts filled his ears instead, but the echoes of his old man's chuckles ringing in his ears, leaving his mind wandering for a solution to what just happened.

"Hey, Kenny! Kyle and Cartman are gonna crash at my place tonight, wanna come with?" The sandy-blond's pale blue eyes were too glued to the back of his father's figure that he didn't notice Stan beside him, bending over to clap his mitten-clad hands in front of the blond, seems that was enough to snap him back to reality, seeing as he started to rise from the nest of snow he had managed to make himself due to sulking there all afternoon. "Hey uh- dude? You okay?" Stan asked with a neutral tone, an eyebrow raised questionably as he eyed his friend, and the greasy old coat in his hands.

"What did your dad want, more spare change? You poor people are so typical." Cartman gave his own mocking comment from the side, slinging an arm over Kenny, though the sandy-blond was a few inches taller than the brunet, who was smirking as he expected the punch or shove that always followed when he'd always make fun of Kenny, his family, or the fact that he was poor. But there was nothing, only a soft hum that parted from Kenny's lips, staring out now to nothing, the gray light that acted as a poor replacement for sunlight soon darkening as night began to settle in.

"Whatever! Let's go, I'm freezing my ass off out here." Cartman gave Kenny a half shove to bring him back to Earth, walking ahead of everyone else in the direction of the suburbs. Kyle was next to follow, saying something about Cartman freezing some ass off would be a good thing for his large state, a reply about his figure being big-boned soon following. But Kenny didn't pay attention to their small banter as he followed the rest of them back to Stan's house, his gaze still stuck to the coat clutched in his hands, and his mind still back at the time with his old man underneath that pine tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've accidentally made kenny's dad a main character whoops a doodle  
> i have no idea where this is going, but i hope y'all stick around to see when it does, thank y'all again


	3. Constant Reminders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys walk the same straight road home as night begun to settle, but Kenny's mind was astray, and the air even served as a reminder of what is now their reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys sorry i didn't post anything, i was away for a while, then i got sick and my hands were bruised for a while so i couldn't type. but now i am here, but i'm still a bit feverish so what i managed to write down may be a bit off. but trust me i'll get back into the swing of it when i get better. thanks for understanding
> 
> enjoy, friends,

The skies overhead roll darkened clouds over the primary layer of gray, the great expanse above shifting to a more depressing atmosphere as night begun to settle in. The sun would be starting its descent behind the bordering mountains of Colorado at this time, but the cold's monochrome curtains had hidden the daily beauty that we've all taken for granted. A chorus of boot prints crushing the fallen snow could be heard as the denizens of South Park retreat to their homes, the temperature dropping further to its usual unwelcoming state as the day reaches its end. _Same as every day,_ Kenny thought, sprightly-colored blue eyes darting to the doorways and alleyways of Main street as he and the other boys made their journey back to the neighborhood. Well, what was left of it, anyway.

Buildings had long lost their color, leaving only shreds of former facades that brought color to the rural white fields, now remnants of an old memory that seemed to be hazy due to the profuse amount of frost that replaced it. Noises and occasional shouts resound from the pale structures, broken and frosted windows beginning to leak faint glows of gold as the residents ignite their furnaces to keep the slightest hint of warmth throughout a harsh night for the umpteenth time. The boys began to pick up their feet and quicken their paces as the streets quickly turned bare, a brisk gust crudely reminding them that the longer they'd stay out exposed, the more likely that the harsh bite of snow would devour the flame that warmed up the cores of their bodies. Kenny's pace, however, was lagging behind, his head swimming in uncertain thoughts that continued to grow darker the more he delved into them, but an unknown quick bump of the shoulder shook his head awake, allowing him to match the strides of the others, their boots digging into the snow as they ground to a stop at the doorstep of the Marsh residence.

"...Why are y'all gon' bunk up at Stan's anyway?" The sandy-blond asked after exhaling a slow hot breath, their small sprint exhausting him slightly, his shoulders shrugging against the heavy coat he was now currently wearing, eyebrows raising in confusion when he realized that the foul-smelling cloth he was just holding in his hands were now draped on him.

"Didn't you hear?" Kyle let out, his tone matching his expression as olive-green eyes landed on the poor boy's figure as if confounded by his question. Before he could continue on, as if on queue, Stan picked up where his 'super best friend' left off, light hand gestures accompanying his words to give a more dynamic explanation.

"The adults are holding an emergency meeting at the community center tonight, something urgent since they're going straight there after work."

"Yeah, dude. My dad stopped by to tell us before he went over there." Kyle finished straight after Stan's interjection, prompting a huff from Cartman, muttering the word 'fags' due to their synchronization, an angry retort erupting from the redhead next to him because of it. Kenny, however, took some time to process what they said. _When did all this happen? Must've been when I was talking with him._ His eyes scanned around, his mind a tad slow to realize that Clyde and Token were no longer with them, his mind falling more into thought. _When did we lose them on the way here? How-_

"...Hey Kenny? Kenny, Kenny yo!"

An obnoxious chime of copper snapped the blond back to reality, a large wool glove hovering above him, loose change dancing around on its palm as the hand under it jerked around, soon retracting back to its owner when the noise had successfully brought their friend back from space. Stan and Kyle furrowed their brows, eyes glancing for a moment at each other before settling back on Kenny, the fattest one of the group smirking to himself as he shoved the coins back in his front pocket.

"Trick works every time."

"You uh, okay there, Kenny? You've been spacing out all day." One of them asked, who it was exactly, the blond wasn't sure. He shook his head as a response before speaking, hands reaching behind his head to look for a hoodie of sorts that may be attached to the coat.

"Yeah... I'm fine, just a bit cold."

Stan laughed, "Since when is anybody _not_ cold these days?"

 

The next thing Kenny knew, they were inside Stan's house. Their boots kicked off and left near the front door, slumped down on the old worn out sofa and tattered quilt sprawled out in the dim living room. A poorly installed fireplace where the TV used to be housing an inviting fire, engulfing the boys' figures in a radiant glow and fervent heat. Relaxed and spread out on the floor, the sandy-blond relaxed on the quilt mat, finding the surface softer than his own bed back at his house, the other three spaced out on the couch above him, conversing amongst themselves, though he was disengaged with the conversation, more interested in the flames that illuminated the room.

"So... Almost five years, huh?" Kyle suddenly sighed out after the conversation had died down some moments ago, grabbing even Kenny's attention as the redhead stared painfully at the fire for a long while before speaking once more.

"It almost feels unreal, huh? All the thing's that's happened.." Taking his lime-green trapper hat off to run a tired hand through fiery curls, he trailed off with a lonely sigh.

"All the sights that've changed.." Stan continued with a sigh of his own, leaning against the couch before reeling his head back to lay against it, beginning to reminisce of the past.

"..All the food I haven't gotten to eat." Cartman added with his own contribution, a sad-looking smirk playing across his face as he reclined on the far right of the old furniture. A small moment's silence soon followed after that, before a small voice broke the silence.

"..All the people we've lost."

Kenny finished with a somber sigh, the rest of the boys stilling their breaths, then exhaling it slowly, all muttering one word simultaneously: "Yeah.."

The air felt should feel heavy, but as they each sucked in a lukewarm breath, they reminded themselves that this winter nightmare they were living in was real life. It wasn't going to be like last time where any sort of bad would be dealt with by the end of the day. This wasn't a problem that they were going to solve, not this time. It was a problem they were going to have to live with. But living devolved into surviving, and the harsh bite of the cold snuffed out lives before they could figure out how to do something so simple. There were lights that, once put out, couldn't be rekindled with a match, lighter, nor gas lamp. And it was only going to get worse. "It's going to get better.. Right?" Nobody knew who asked that question, and no one chased after it to reignite the conversation. Allowing the cold, much like with many things, to let it die down into silence, merely taking the time to enjoy the sparse warmth of the flames. But in everyone's mind, they all secretly hoped it. That someday, it was going to get better. Although for now, nobody was uncertain. No one was sure.

Kenny curled up on himself at the cold uncertainty, luckily finding a hood in the coat's fabric to conceal his features, pulling it down further over his head before his frantic hands zipped up the clothing all the way up to his chin, hiding into the cloth as something continued to run through his mind. But to be more specific, someone continued to run through his mind. For the first time in a long while, Kenny McCormick felt truly cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the only thing uncertain 'round here is me and where i'm planning to take this fanfic aaaaa  
> but anyways yeah, i'll try to get better as quick as i can so i can deliver more, sorry for being slow


	4. Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the citizens of South Park gathered for the urgent meeting, anxious eyes and unsure faces meld together as Mayor McDaniels attempts to set the town in motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am alive yay, still dunno where im going with this but i hope y'all are still liking it, yay  
> also in the summary, whoever's name is mentioned will be whose mind we'll get a look into, sort of like a pov thing but not really
> 
> anyways enjoy,

Dusk had reduced the streets to an eerie quiet, but the community center was buzzing with all sorts of noise. Combinations of complaints and repeated announcements fill the frigid air as the adult demographic of South Park funnel inside the familiar, worse for wear building, sparking long matches to slip inside lanterns in order to provide a source of light within the wide open space of the community center. People push against one another as they began to gather in front of the makeshift platform and pedestal that was sporting a partially destroyed logo of the town, its state perfectly reflecting on the state of the old mountain town.

As the collision of hot and anxious breaths of the crowd began to die down, the dully elected council stepped forward from the crowd to stand behind the mayor, who had been waiting for their presence before beginning the abrupt summons. Her tired blue eyes, that if one were to look closer they'd see an imperfection of green in them, scanned the rabble, waiting with bated breath for her to start, a soft clear of the throat resounding through the room before she spoke.

"People of South Park! I know our progress has been.. slow to say the least, but I assure you that we are doing everything in our power to make things better." Her words, even though this five-year winter had taken the better years out of her, still had the same fortitude as it did in the past. As soon as it left her lips, however, protesting and mangled cries stirred up from the crowd, their beliefs of the town only going downhill evident in the stings of their noise. But what Mayor McDaniels hears is only the same old rabble that she had been hearing from the same old group for years. _Same people, same know-how's,_ the turquoise-haired woman said in her mind, firmly setting her hands down on each edge of the rickety pedestal before finding the same old fire in her voice to shut the crowd up.

"People, please! We must go at each problem one by one, and the most urgent matter to address is the citizens that have recently gone missing in the cold!"

The rabble soon started to die down as she got into the swing of her speech, the resilient tone in the old mayor's voice piercing through the unsure atmosphere of the room. Ignoring the stray remarks from the random people of the crowd, she continued to address her words, only entertaining the rude interrupting souls with a moment's glare before moving on. "For South Park to survive, everybody must give their hands in the effort, and that means every person. In. This. Town."

Lifting a hand to gesture towards the quieted rabble, the mayor's last three words had a strict pause to each of them, which prompted shifting gazes from the crowd to one another, understanding what she means, but not grasping on what her agenda is, this uncertainty quickly addressed with a gesture of the same hand, expecting eyes landing on a familiar scruffy man standing near the front of the crowd, noticing the lack of a warm article of clothing, the woman could only think that he was probably too drunk to register the stinging cold. Nonetheless, her hand hovered at her front, pointing towards him as the adjacent citizens took a step back.

"Mister McCormick here has proposed a way to find our strayed townspeople. Mister McCormick, if you'd please come up front."

The crowd stood in disbelief at the mention of the man's name, and they weren't sure if they should laugh or scream in protest at the second mention of the name. As far as everyone in town knew, the town's alcoholic, deadbeat, no-good member of society was nothing more than that, the same thought was clearly evident on their expressions alone, especially the man's wife who was standing at his side before she too had to take a step backwards and make a move to clear her ears to check if she wasn't hearing things. _Yeah, me too. But at this point, we're desperate for a solution._

Mayor McDaniels took a half-step to the side, then to the back to make room for the staggering man she called forward, who took a moment longer than usual for a sober individual to find his footing, using the pedestal to steady himself, clearing a dry throat as he scanned the bewildered crowd in front of him, worn winter boots unable to find steady and still footing when he began his words.

"Howdy, folks. I'm uh.. sure y'all seen me 'round.. Heh, I'm not too sure m'self on why I'm not dead yet, either." Stuart's words started with a slow slur, his figure swaying slightly every now and again, relying on the wooden structure at his front to keep himself upright. _He's probably had too much again. Jesus, maybe I should've said the plan and not him goddamn it._

"So I know that we've been uh.. missin' a few more people lately. But! but but-" The drunk man trailed off, but before he could continue, the demurral of the rabble interrupted, several raising their fists in irritation, seeming like their patience had run out.

"We don't need to listen to drunk good-for-nothings like you tellin' us what to do!"

"Hell, we don't even need people like you at all!"

"Get off the stage!"

Were some of the sharp insults that were hurled from the crowd, the rest blending in with one another, resulting in a cacophony of clamoring. The turquoise-haired mayor let out a slow breath, her eyes examining the man in front of him, who only eyed up the crowd with a lopsided grin, her attention more focused on the expression on his scruffy features rather than the rabble of the townspeople.

"RABBLE! RABBLE RABBLE!" _God, they'll never stop rabbling._

But Stuart waited for a gap in the melded noises of the crowd to speak out one line, brown eyes scanning each frown and yell in the room, landing on the figure of his wife, who has stayed quiet throughout the entire event, the redhead's small gaze locking with his for a moment. Then, he could've sworn that beyond the disappointment and tired look, he saw a faint glimmer of hope masked in her usual façade as if for the first time, she was expecting _something_ from him. Tearing away from his gaze, she started to shrink back into the crowd, pulling on a tattered forest green coat draped over the redhead but was halted along with the cries of the rabble when a loud voice cut through the conflicting air.

"If ya' don't need people like me, then throw us out!" Everyone in the room suddenly felt their voice of protest die in their throats, although the anxiety and frustrations wouldn't subside. But at that moment, all were left with nothing to say, even for the man who yelled the words out. But the moment's silence was enough time for him to rack through his redneck brain for something to follow through. Something to get in the people's head to make them understand. But Stuart wasn't good at that, he knew he wasn't good at a lot of things, but this time, he was going to do more than just try.

"Y'all can throw people like me out in'the cold, but we always turn out all right! So just, toss us all out!"

No one, blatant on their dumbfounded expressions, understood what he was trying to convey, but the mayor kept her mouth still, although her trademark smirk was nowhere to be found on her face, paying close attention to see where the man was taking this, curious at the fact that his staggering and unsteady movements had all stilled. Feet firmly planted on the wooden floorboards, a singular hand gesturing to accompany with his words, that admittedly still had a slight slur to its tone.

"Nobody can handle the cold like the homeless! So send us out in that god-forsaken wasteland! If we all freeze out there, then no more deadbeat losers, right?" Squinted brown eyes swept through the crowd in front of him, his gesturing hand balling into a fist to firmly slam on the surface of the pedestal, the loud bang resounding through the room to buy time while he collected his words.

"But! but, but! You send me n' them out there, but we will find those lost people n' bring them along back home! Gimme' tomorrow, all the homeless folk I can find and a few bags, and I'll tell ya! We'll bring em back."

"That's too damn long!" A man from the crowd interjected, a fair few turning their gazes towards the source of the voice. "They'd all be dead by then! And you'll just steal more of our-"

"Look, man. If ya' have a better idea than this one, then come right up on here!" The scruffy man countered, giving him a long stare. To his surprise, the man opened his mouth to speak, but soon retreated back into the shuffling crowd when he realized that no one had a better plan. _Never thought that I'd leave South Park to the homeless demographic, but I guess times change._ The mayor thought to herself, her smirk returning to the edges of her lips when she noticed the slow, but growing looks of agreement from the crowd.

"Anyone who wants to volunteer is welcome, but I don't reckon that anybody would have enough balls." Stuart finished, a low chuckle following after his passive-aggressive comment, though he kept a serious expression plastered on his scruffy face. After a few seconds of silence from the rabble, he looked behind his shoulder to the mayor, taking a slightly staggering step to the side to tell her that he was concluded in his section of the announcement.

"Does anybody have any questions?" With the same resilient tone, she demanded rather than asked from the crowd as she took a single step forward back on her place on the old pedestal, being met with nothing but soft murmurs being whispered amongst the crowd. "Good. Another thing we need to do is to change how things work around here."

Without any more energy left to complain, the citizens of South Park focused back on their mayor's words, Stuart McCormick had been guided back to stand at the back row along with the council by his old friend, Gerald Broflovski, who gave him a pat on the back as a form of congratulations. But what were congratulations enough for him was the gentle smile that tugged on his wife's lips somewhere in the crowd. Because, though he had failed through the better part of his years to see it, and had done next to nothing to see it during that time, her smile meant everything to him. And after seeing it once more after the longest time, he was eager to see it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have big plans that i hope you all will enjoy. so stay tuned for that, and lemme know what you think


	5. Darkness and Delusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night dragged on in its eventful state at the community center, but Kenny had spent his night staring to the fading fires, his mind not exactly right when darkness settled in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woop woop i live 
> 
> enjoyy, and if i mess up anything, please let me know

By the time the door was hastily swung open, the entirety of the room was nearly engulfed in darkness, the cutting freeze resorting the common man to shivers and the fiercest of flames to mere cinders, the only source of light to guide Kenny's eyes were the remaining glows of coal and firewood, slowly succumbing to the cold. Not wanting to find his friends freeze to death overnight, the sandy-haired blond made an attempt towards where the fireplace would be, but the rolling length of wool that he quickly found himself to be intertwined in restricted the boy's movements, his sluggish motions contributing to his failure to rekindle the fire.

Changing plans, Kenny jerked his upper half upwards to sit up on the floor, half-lidded eyes scanning the sea of blackness for the source behind the door's sudden opening. Again, seeing nothing but the twinkling orange at the corner of his vision. Faint murmurs touched his sense of hearing amidst the constant howl of the perennial blizzard outside, snapping him away from the illusion of drowsiness as the boy finally weaved his limbs free from the warm clutches of the quilt. Muffled footsteps knocking against the carpeted floor, the occasional heel striking against wood serving as a reminder that even the floor they walked on has worn down, patches of carpet rotted away to reveal dreary floorboards and dried bonding agents. Unable to rely on sight, Kenny closed them, focusing all feeling on his hearing, filtering out the constant blow of winter to make out the whispered conversation between the unknown.

"..The kids don't need to get involved, just what the hell were you all thinking?" A feminine voice snapped out in a hushed tone, such a tone clearly conveying how upset she is at the situation. A lower tonality replied quickly to reason with the other, a pair of boots, from what Kenny could hear, halting in its tracks before the low voice spoke.

"They're not kids anymore, Sharon. You and I, and every parent in this town know that."

"I know, I know... I just.. It's too dangerous, they're not ten anymore, but they're still fifteen!" The woman's voice whom Kenny could recognize sounded out in protest, breaking from the hushed whispering to voice out her point, the voice of who could only be her husband hushed out a sharp shush to return her to an acceptable volume before saying, "It looks bad, but if we don't change anything, we're only gonna die in this cold."

"But-" The other voice began, but died down quickly as heels spun on the revealed floorboards, the direction of where the figure would be facing, the eavesdropping boy couldn't possibly know for sure, but had a hunch that, much like a moth to a flame, their pair of eyes would glide towards the dying embers laying upon ash inside the stone fireplace.

"..Look at them. They deserve so much better."

The next words that left the effeminate voice proved him otherwise, prompting the blond to open his eyes, having to squint them back to a near close when his vision was blurred from a yellow glow that dimly shone upon the couch. His figure still sat up on the floor, but Kenny found his body back against the front of the couch, his head resting against what he could feel as somebody's leg. Despite his moment's movement due to the dim dazzle, the two looming over them didn't see him, their words continuing as two gazes scanned the four boys that laid asleep on the worn out couch.

"I know they do, Sharon, and that's what we're going to give them." With that, the light drew away from the living room as the two pairs of footsteps flicked against the stairs, ascending upwards to the floor above. Their quieted conversation, the steps, as well as the orange hue soon fading off, returning the living room to the dark, frigid cold that Kenny woke up to. _It's like leaving a warm and cozy dream and waking up to a cold nightmare._

Confirming that the two had left the room with slow opening eyes, the sandy-blond breathed out a slow sigh, allowing his head to reel back against whoever's leg he was up against. _It's not fat enough to be Cartman's. It must be Stan's,_ he thought absentmindedly, vacant hands trailing against the carpeted floor, fingers soon entangling itself against loose lines of cloth from the quilt he had abandoned in the darkness to eavesdrop, feeling not at all guilty for it, having done much worse in the past. A silent laugh he didn't mean to make left his lips.

 _That must be it, then. It's all just some sort of sick, fucked up form of payback for all the shit I've pulled in the past._ His thoughts continued to wander on in its lonesome in the seemingly eternal darkness, his mind absently paying close attention to details around him that he never noticed before, and has always stuck to him. An example: Whenever he would breathe through his mouth, a slight whistle would emerge from it due to the slight gap between his two front teeth. Only a few people know that this was the only reason behind his questionable fashion sense back when they were all kids, and since the boy used to laugh a lot, usually to something vulgar or the slightest bit sexual, the whistling noise would be accidentally made more often than he would have liked. In order to hide it, he would muffle the whistle, his words, and his breath with the help of his signature orange parka, the article of clothing doing the job of concealing the true nature of his voice so much that it would take an expert sense of hearing to differentiate his muffled sounds of joy and his sounds of pain.

Being made fun of at the tender age of 4 deals a number on the mind of a child, and Kenny was no different. If someone were to ask him now, he supposed that he never shook off the habit of concealing his features and voice. _My voice is ugly anyway. My whistling, my tone. It's ugly._

_"Aww, but your voice sounds fine! I mean.. I like it."_

_That voice. Those shuffling blue eyes. Those bruised knuckles that knocked together at every passing word that left those pale lips._ The poor boy's eyes traced a gaze along the dark as his mind continued to spiral down further down a hole it should definitely not go. What he thought shouldn't go to, anyway.

 _"I know you're just buttering up your words to make me feel better."_ Anything. His mind could have thought of anything. The tragedy which was his life, the current state of hopelessness that they were in, hell, even the countless deaths he experienced. Because God, or some other sick-minded higher being, knew that he wouldn't ever forget those.

 _That innocent snorting, followed by such an innocent smile._ His mind replayed audio of the memory in his ears, whilst his eyes adjusted from the darkness to a vague visual outline of the memory that his sick brain was sadistically reminiscing. _Can't even trust my own brain,_ the boy thought at the moment. His mind could've thought of anything he was already accustomed to, but instead, it decided to replay a foreign emotion from way back then. _"_

 _C'mon now, Ken'! Let's see that big ol' smile of yours!"_ First his hearing, then sight, and now his frigid skin could feel those warm hands brush up against the sides of his face. Gentle fingers running through his unwashed sandy-blond hair to pull up the parka that he wore, revealing a mess that was his hair, freckles lightly dotting his cheeks and a crooked smile that showed only a fraction of a worse mess that was the poor boy's teeth. But aside from these thoughts, he attempted a smirk that revealed that _ugly_ gap in his front teeth.

Silence met the memory for a moment, a replica of the smile he made then surfacing at the present, like a scratched up DVD that messed up the playback, his ears continuing said playback with his internal voice back then. _Now he sees how fucked up I look.. Shit. C'mon, say it._

The visual outline of the memory said nothing in response to his thoughts, the warm feeling of those hands guiding his secure hood behind his head, then those knuckles knocking right below my chin while they loosened the string of that old, replaceable parka.

 _"Why, it's just like a ball o' sunshine hidden underneath!"_ Kenny's eyes blinked at the widened, warm grin that was plastered across that face, his vision vividly recreating the memory in detail before his mind replayed that voice. His body reminiscing that surging sense of warmth and confidence, his smile that fail to match that innocent grin, and his heart that began to beat in an unsure, confusing, but comforting manner at that moment on.

 _Heh.. Well, the sun's already up there so... I guess this lil' ball of sunshine's all of you, then._ The memory finished, his vision soon returned to the empty darkness, and his skin was pricked by the cutting frost washing through his senses when his mind returned back to the present. Only his hands saw solace within the quilted mat, which he slowly pulled closer, soon holding it against his chest. It was nothing compared to the raw feeling of warmth he felt back then, Kenny thought when his mind had nothing else to draw forth, his knees folding to press against his chest, his body still feeling the lingering warmness from his delusions.

Once more, the boy drew cold frigid air from his nose, then expelled the unsure breath through his teeth, once more hearing the slight whistle accompanying it.

I' _m going to see that smile again. I'm going to still those knuckles. I'm going to hear that innocent laugh._ Kenny resolved himself, his internal words pausing for a moment as his eyes focused on that first _real_ thing since a while ago, towards the fireplace.

Not towards the dying cinders snuffing out from the cold, but the twinkling embers that were eager to burn.

"Fuck.. I'm going to smile for real this time, and his fingers are going get to touch this ball of sunshine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he's not insane probably i swears, probs gonna get working on the big things next chapter, so stay tuuned
> 
> thanks for reading


	6. A Different Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun could be rising past the whitened mountain range to bring forth a new tomorrow, but the ever-raging snowstorm prevents such a simple pleasure. For Stuart McCormick, however, will be a different day for him, and a different day from here on out for South Park.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not dead yet guys woooo, but i did go through a lot of things, including but not limited to: going on competition, my hands being wounded for a week, replacing laptop, laptop breaking, using laptop right now that its screen hurts my eyes, and sleeping, then classes starting 
> 
> but i am here now, and i shall try to pick up the pace for you guys, but for now, enjoy

The frigid gale is always at its quietest when the earliest signs of "day time" would show on the monochrome expanse overhead. A dim shine barely filtering through the ocean of storm to dimly illuminate the spectrum of depressing colors, bringing the world the closest reminder of what day used to be. 

At this time, the town would be huddled in the warmest part of their homes, cradling to fires, radiators and lamps for heat. Cowered from the angry hammering of the winds, as if nature was an enraged landowner banging at humanity's borrowed space, eager to collect this month's rent. 

 

One house however, faintly echoes heavy footsteps. 

"Are you sure you don't wanna' say goodbye to the kids?" Carol McCormick attempted to convince, hands clutching a thick, but foul-looking coat, unsure eyes trained to her husband, who was lacing up an old pair of combat boots that they managed to dig up from the heaps of trash in their wreck of a home, the razor-like winds hammering away at the seams of its corners, constant rattling of metal sheets and plywood barely holding out against it.

"Naw', Karen's asleep, Kevin's god-knows-where and Ken's at his friend's house. They won't know that I've gone," Stuart growled out in a tired tone, his throat still masked by the grogginess of sleep.

"Say, hand me my beer, would'ya?"

Normally, his wife would immediately devolve any conversation they'd hold into a heated argument whenever alcohol would be introduced, but this time, she spoke no words of protest, nor gave any look of disgust. Only nodding solemnly before picking up an opened can of beer that was sitting atop of a plane of plywood held up by a stack of withering hollow blocks, waiting at a pause to examine the drink, then surrendering it over to the gloved hand that reached out.

A soft fizzling noise rang out in the man's ears as he felt the low key poison slip down his throat, downing it all in one long swig. His lips departing from the cold tin can with a puff of warm breath. "Haa... That hit the spot." He sighed out, crushing the empty beer can in his hands, chucking it uncaringly into a nearby pile of unsorted whatnot's, from a glance it could be a pile for clothes, trash, broken appliances, or even bedding if one would be desperate enough. A perfect home for that crushed up can of beer.

Silence met the two when Stuart fished up a raggedy rucksack from the floor, slinging the only attached strap over his right shoulder, a muffled clang of metal and plastic emerging from the satchel at every exaggerated movement. After confirming that he had all that he needed, he made slow steps over to the front door. Not getting very far when the quick voice of his wife brought his feet to an abrupt stop.

"Aren't ya' forgettin' something?" Carol voiced out lowly, stepping up to his side to softly shove the worn coat in front of him, the man's alcohol-swamped brain turning a few gears before the obvious realization hit him. "Ah, right. Thanks, honey."

Stuart thanked with a moment's chuckle, bending down to set the bag down before taking the warm article of clothing off her hands, arms slipping into the thick sleeves, straightening out the coat on his body before giving himself a look on the largely broken mirror on the wall.

"How do I look?"

"Like shit." His wife commented with a smile, the action earning her a wide grin from him, who let out another short chuckle in response, bending back down to put on the rucksack, its crude symphony of metal filling in the short silence.

"Like always then, huh?" The coat wasn't his first choice, but he gave his best one to Kenny, who would've likely froze to death given his severe lack of thick clothes yesterday. Sure, he'll just come back, _but Carol's gon' be all alone to handle that thing that keeps happening over and over._

"No. This time's different." Her words were not the words that the drunk expected her to say, cautious hands trailing up both sleeves of the donned on coat, gripping it tightly when her hands made their way up near his shoulders.

"..You'll come back, right? Ya ain't gonna turn tail and leave us, right?"

Carol's voice left her lips in a shaky tone, sounding like the words was more to assure herself rather than questions to the man in front of him, a man that she may see for the last time.

_She's.. Scared._ Stuart opened his mouth, but heard no words leave it. He's always stormed out of the house and not come back for days on end, every night he and his wife would throw ceramics and anything they could grab, cursing at each other's faults. That was the norm between them. _So why's right now different?_

"I'll come back if ya promise to stop throwing things at me." He mused in attempt to lighten up the atmosphere that felt to grow colder at every passing second, but this time, the usual hammering of loose building materials didn't register in his ears, only the unsteady tone of his wife, every crack in her voice, and every unsure whisper.

"I'll think 'bout it if you stop drinkin' all the damn time." Despite the urge to have a break down that somehow found itself inside her, Carol let out a creaky laugh amidst her words, her hands doing nothing but tightening the grip on his shoulders. Stuart, who noticed her out of place actions, responded in the same manner. Slow, but steady arms reaching outwards, then made a way around his wife's slim figure, bringing her into an awkward hug. _Haven't done nothin' like this before in forever._

Carol blinked at the hug, but soon returned it in one swift movement, arms that comparatively looked fragile to her husband wrapped tightly around his middle, as far as her arms allowed her, without words, they stood together in silence, hearing nothing but the continuing howl right outside their home.

The clanging around them slowly lessened in frequency, and the gale seeped less through the broken and boarded up windows.

 

_It's almost time._

"Watch after the kids, al'right?" Stuart finally instructed, breaking away from the hug, turning away from his wife to push open the amalgamation of plywood that acted as the front door. Nature's frigid breath was merciful for now, well, as merciful as it could get.

Without any more words, the gruffly man made his short walk towards the Community center, where he would meet up with the volunteering force of homeless people. But, In the temporary respite of peace during the walk, passing by the ruins of SoDoSoPa, at every crinkling of frost beneath his steps, he began to doubt himself.

Leaving his family and the warmth of South Park didn't seem like the brightest of all options. Stuart McCormick didn't know what to do, no one did. But, they needed to do something.

 

Scratching his neck in irritation, the man remarked, "Argh... Should've grabbed another drink before leaving."

 

....

 

Ten minutes passed, give or take, and the rectangular building was finally just across the street. A force of habit made him look both ways as he crossed the shattering asphalt, even if they were no threats to run him over. Soon, he approached a small crowd of gathered at the front doors of the community center, his steps shifting direction towards the less privileged-looking group.

"Ah, you're late. Like usual." A hoarse voice called out to Stuart, the voice could belong to any of the bunched up group of hobos in front of him, who it was specifically he can't remember right now.

Clearing his dry throat, he answered back in a begrudging tone. _Fuck, I forgot to pack water._ "Ergh, it was a long walk from home."

"Yeah well, at least you have a house."

"Not by much, the darn place is gettin' ripped apart at the woodwork." Stuart grumbled out. But as much as that piece of shit that property was, it was his home. One he was sure to come back to, if luck permitted him.

 

"All right, everyone!"

A feminine voice broke out into the calm air, all heads soon turning to the mayor, who stood atop a makeshift stage.

"Thank you all for being the pioneers this town needs. Now, I know this seems like a suicide mission-" _And it sure is._ "-Our very own Jimbo and Ned has supplied Mr. McCormick's expeditionary force with weapons and supplies. May their success be the first of many for South Park!"

A small crowd of nearby households were present, sounding their small yells of encouragement. Though they weren't much, it was something, Stuart thought. Considering the fact he didn't think anybody would show up to see them off. _They're all probably happy to see us finally go away._

The formal send-off for the group ended quickly, and many of the bystanders rushed home at the quick whip of cold air. Those who were left were the group of sacrificial la-, rescuers, the Mayor's personnel, and South Park's renowned big game hunters, who were showcasing a small crate of pistols, flares, assorted survival equipment, and large green coats that were passed around.

Stuart let the larger of the two's open explanation of each weaponry wash over him as he looked back in the direction to his house. Was this a good idea, after all?

He counted the group distinguishing who was coming along with him by recognizing the faces that were brought up during last night's town meeting.  _One... Five.. Uh, eight._

A sigh escaped the drunk's lips. Including him, the group was a measly nine. It wasn't ideal, but considering that the town's supplies were diminishing by the day, sending a small group would mean allocating only a few of the precious resources, and if the 'deadbeats' of the town died off from the cold, it would be one less demographic for the town to manage. This, Stuart left to bounce around in his head, and a quick notice of the teal-haired woman's smirk helped him none in diffusing the thought.

"And this one 'ere, we thought would fix ya' up nicely, Stuart." The mention of his name brought him back to reality, the soles of his boots slightly stuck to the frost beneath him. Shaking away from the frigid grasp, he stepped over to the group. Darting a gaze around, awed faces were carefully stroking the firearms, breathing warm puffs of breath from what looked to be the first article of proper winter clothes they've worn in a long time. Shrugging his shoulders, he weaved past them, stopping in front of the heavy hunter, who was holding a pistol by the barrel, pointing its grip towards him, a gleeful look on his face.

"It's one of the last shipments we got before hell decided to freeze over and came up here! It's the Desert Eagle L5, point three hundred fifty-seven, black Aluminum frame. Light, but carries more rounds in a clip than the old models, and still packs a punch for anything that might come at ya'!"

Using his other hand, Jimbo gestured to the pistol as if it was some sort of wondrous accomplishment of man, mentioning more details regarding the pistol. Though Stuart was never a fan of guns, his interest was piqued at the firearm. Elegant frame, smaller in stature, and the dark metal appealed to him in a strange way. The drunk couldn't resist the smile that tugged at the edges of his lips.

"She's quite the beaut' 'ere, Kern. Thanks." Stuart said with a tint of appreciation in his groggy voice, taking the gun by the handle and giving it a quick look in his own hands.  _9 rounds,_ he thought,  _8 for anythin', one for myself._

Slipping a few extra magazines in a random leg pocket, he nodded to the two before turning to the rest of the group, who looked to be finished on worshiping their new material gods. Nearby was a closed crate, atop its surface a big-game hunting map of the area of South Park. Taking slow steps towards it, he cleared his throat, bringing attention to the homeless group, congregating around the makeshift table. Stuart traced a slow hand on the back road leading out of the town, where the missing family was last heard to be.

"Past the U-Stor-It, and the ol' train station. Last word was the Stotches left through 'ere." His finger stopped on the Eastern edge of the town, tapping twice on where the old train yard used to be. Right behind his house, but he'll take the high road, Stuart thought.

"Jesus, what were they thinkin'? Goin' on a suicide stroll in this weather?" 

"And we're not 'bout to do the exact same thing?"

A few of the homeless exchanged words, and puffs of laughter drifted in the dry winter air, even Stuart cracked an awkward looking smirk at the grim remark. Little by little, his idea seems to be less likely to succeed.

But hey, Stuart never said that he was a lucky man.

"It don't matter what they were thinkin', but we're gon' get 'em back." He decided, and eyes of derision met were returned to him. A shrug was all Stuart could do as a retort to their stares, not bothering to say any more 'rousing speeches.' He figured he had enough of that last night.

"All right-y! Godspeed, gentlemen!" Jimbo said with a toothed grin, then turned heel to pack up their wares that were left untouched. "C'mon, Ned! Before the winds picks up again!"

Bringing his voice box to his neck, Ned faced up at the group of homeless- No, they were more than that now. Dead men? Probably. "-Nnghnm- Good. Luck."

With that, Stuart was left with his eight men, all who looked like they couldn't care less if they lived, died, or turned tail and ran the opposite direction. He thought about the last option considerably, so, he drew his newly acquired pistol, sighting its barrel to each man around him. "Try an' run, I'll shoot you bastards myself."

The last one to have the barrel pointed to only laughed in response, jutting his own weapon lazily towards the brunet man. "I could say the same to ya', McCormick. Better not find ya passed out in a bush somewhere again."

A silence fell upon the group, then, a few puffs of laughter escaped loose lips. Soon, everyone was laughing. With the ones in front of him slapping hands at another's shoulder, and giving a playful shove, Stuart could swear the air that breezed against his face felt warm.

"Ha-ha.. O'alright, I should'a seen that one comin'." Tucking the Desert Eagle in the tightness of his belt, he rolled up the map, folding the large square crudely before slipping it in a pocket. "Y'all remember what we were doin' again?" He asked in a half sincere, half rhetorical tone. At least making sure _these drugged up hobos remembered what they were signin' up for._

"Hmmm... Let's see 'ere." One brought a hand to his chin, voicing a mocking hum, eyeing up the drunk with a sneer before finding an answer. "Was it to probably fail, and freeze to death?

"Sounds 'bout right. Now let's get on goin'." Stuart commanded with a low sigh, following the remnants of the sidewalk that led to Main Street, where they'd hopefully be quick enough to enter the forest before the gale would awake from its momentary peace.

Where he expected a noise of complaint, or a protest to propose a different decision, the group of homeless people began to mouth small talk as they walked behind Stuart, most wearing cheered smiles on their filthy features.  _This is already goin' better than goddamn planned._

 

The roads were silent, the windows of main street buildings had been boarded up, and the doors blocked with bricks to prevent the winds from tearing its flimsy doors wide open. It was depressing, and the sight would drain one's hope for any form of improvement, but in its own right, it looked peaceful. Nothing- But the noises of their footsteps, and the shuffling of backpacks that hung behind each man.

"So.. Where do we start?" One man from the group fell into step with Stuart to ask. He knew this man's name, but the brown-haired drunk couldn't quite remembered it right now. "Ergh, I don't know, er- Chuck?"

"Yeah, sure. Chuck." The man repeated with a tone of sarcasm, but Stuart didn't bother. "Well, ha-ha. Tough, your name is Chuck now." He declared with an awkward grin, and Chuck just sighed in resignation to fate.

"Whatever, how are we gonna find a family of lunatics who have been missing for God-knows how long?"

Stuart shrugged in response, keeping his eyes ahead as the abandoned train station came into sight, past heavily covered pine trees and a few more stray piles of debris accumulated over the years.

"Didn't think this far, looks like we're just gon' wing it." He decided in a nonchalant and uncaring tone, passing by the remnants of the town's industrial sector. Not even rats were left, the frigid cold clearing out every resident deprived of warmth. "Anyone got a better plan?"

Chuck attempted to argue, but a groan of frustration could only be heard from Stuart's side. "No... Let's be quick, 'en."

Slowing, the dirty-blond homeless man fell into step with the men at the back, and no one said any more words of complaint as their boots left broken tarmac. Every step from here on out was uncharted territory, and they were on their own. But everyone wore lighthearted expressions, and no step was dragged along the ground, but carried with drive.

The first crunch of frost underneath their boots on entirely frosted floors was almost symbolic, as if it marked the first day South Park was, at last, going to get up its ass and do something. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaa i'll do more quicker, i swear. hope ya enjoyed, and hope you forgive me for posting so late
> 
> also i read about the new desert eagle model and though "yeah my boi would love that gun" so here we are  
> also it says may 24 but i just finished this today on june 25 and i can't change the date somehow, welp


	7. Not Even Five Steps Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The path is set, and the plan is set into motion. But, that was all planning. How will Stuart and his group fare with a heat-deprived winter that threatened to snuff out their very cores?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *first i beat, and then i yeeeeeeet*
> 
> hello, i return, and i have big news!
> 
> so basically the current title for this fic is sort of a place holder, and whilst it's been there i've been trying to find a better name for it. and i did, thanks to a friend of mine (thank you very much for brainstorming with me, friend que, if you ever read this). the name i plan to call it from now on is "sempiternally snowbound." but, i don't know so i come to ask you all: do you like the new name? please let me know
> 
> anyways, enjoy

 

> Crunch. Crunch. . . And Crunch.

 

The expeditionary group labored on the harsh terrain. The sheet of grey overhead tinted brighter as the day began, following suit were the expected squalls. Relaxed footsteps quickly turned to rushed movements towards the treeline just ahead, hoping the towering pine would provide even the slightest cover against the gelid winds. 

Already, nature was starting its attack on the smallest form of resistance. 

"Weather ain't supposed to be this bad, not for a few hours." A voice from behind the assumed leader complained, but were paid no attention as the group ran beneath skeletons of wood and pine. The trees dotted along the treeline were stripped bare of its green, and that provided no help against the waking weather. 

"Just shut yer' trap and keep goin'!" Stuart barked out, his voice barely above the howling winds. The crude symphony of supplied kept within rucksacks grew louder as they picked up their pace, their goal for now being the sprawling canopy that only existed at the deep part of the forest. It was no clear direction to locating the lost family, but it was a good start, if he'd give the family enough credit to be smart enough to take the smart routes. But knowing Stephen Stotch, he wouldn't be surprised to stumble upon the family of three dead and huddled in a snow ditch. 

He didn't say that aloud though. 

"Haven't moved this much ever since we chased that bus to California that one time." Another commented, his sentence separated by dry gulps, and strained chuckles in between. A few laughs were earned from the others, and a voice at the very back chimed in another detail from the event. Stuart didn't pay much attention to their conversation, though. Mentally grumbling at the cold that has already slipped beneath his reasonably warm clothing, chilling him to his fingertips. 

"Ah, what's wrong, Stuart? Cat got yer' tongue?" Chuck provoked lightly with a slap of the arm, prompting Stuart to turn a head to him, and the conversing group behind him, all who had paused to eye him, wearing slight looks of confusion from the drunk's uncharacteristic silence. 

"Ergh, well, I'm no homeless scum, so I don't know much 'bout that whole fiasco." The light brown-haired man joked with an awkward grin, somewhat an attempt to tear away any more stares from the group, who luckily took the bait hook, line, and sinker. 

A dry laugh puffed in the air from the small crowd. "Woah-hoh! Check out Mister Fancy 'ere, livin' on that sweet sweet welfare money~!"  The quick wit made loud laughter erupt from the rest, some adding in more onto the bandwagon of lighthearted insults. Their noises echoed through the desolate forest, continuing the banter as thin walls of mixed green and white came into view above. The natural blockade altered the direction of the winds, and the drastic change of atmosphere prompted the group to halt. 

All shuffled around, many turned heads in doubt of the current direction they were headed, and even Stuart himself furrowed his brows at the environment they ended up in. Every loose path- or at least felt like a path- looked to be the same, with subtle changes such as the occasional frozen river, and frost covered boulders. He kicked the snow beneath his boot, and watched the loose flakes settle back on the sheet of snow. 

"Ergh.. Anyone knows which way?" Stuart asked finally, sighing in defeat. The rest of the homeless exchanged shrugs, before one finally pointed out the existence of the map that the drunk had tucked away in one of his pockets. "Ah- Right. Map." 

Coughing, Stuart felt around his pockets, patting his chest pockets, side pockets, then the front pockets once more. After a few moments of this, he pulled out an unkempt folded piece of yellow-tinted paper, unfolding its creases before spreading it out in front of him, holding each end firmly so the winds wouldn't blow it away. 

"Hmmm.. So we're somewhere around here." His gaze danced around an area of forest marked on the map located East of South Park. At the very edge of the map, were small lines of text that caught the brunet's eye. 

The easternmost edge of the map held the words:  _NW- Middle Park, W- Prime hunting grounds._ A thoughtful hum groaned from his throat. Middle Park seemed too far for any sane man to walk on foot, and the hunting grounds would likely be more forest. Sighing, Stuart glanced up at the map, surveying the group, who were just standing around, talking to each other, but at each passing breeze, their faces grew more irritated. 

"Someone light a damn fire or sm'thn, so we don't all freeze to death!" He yelled out. Many groaned, but ultimately began to throw nearby rocks into a circle, and messily chucked dry twigs in the middle. Content enough, Stuart moved back down to the map. The noise of a liquid spilling, then the cheered cries as the fire roared to life occurred in the background, but he didn't pay too much attention to that right now. 

Gloved hands adjusted at the edges of the map, looking for any other fine print he should know about. An eyebrow was raised upon noticing to a small detail in the map.

_Anythin' not related to huntin's blank._ The realization made sense. For a start, South Park was only indicated on the paper as a big 'X' in the middle, and there were no other signs that would indicate a town, or anything man-made. Squinting harder at the map, his eyes looked for any fine print. After a few minutes of frustratingly staring at this poor-quality map, he found what he was sure to be where the Stotch family went.  _Right there,_ marked in a fading red marker.  _Farm. Further North: Butchery and meat processing plant._

Bingo! Was the word that rang out in Stuart's head, nodding in approval to himself before folding the paper back up again, slipping it in an easier place for him to remember. Looking back at the group, they were all circled around the fire. A fire that smelled of gasoline and faint traces of rubber, but the flame roars weakly, cowering in fear to the merciless gale. 

"Alright-y, boys. I now know where we're goin'!" He declared with a voice tainted with pride, one was quick to voice out his concerns. "You know  _now?!_ " 

Ignoring the question, Stuart spun around, using the map as a basis for his direction making, the sun without his side. "We head on that way." His finger pointed North. Farther than north, but not too far north to be pointing to Canada. A right amount of North, he reckoned. 

When nobody responded, Stuart cleared his throat, and drew his hands atop of the open flame, a small breath of relief trailing out as smoke."That way there leads right up to the Farm, and a little ways farther's the butchery. There's no other place." 

"Eh, whatever. It ain't as far if I remember right." Chuck stated with a shrug, and everyone else nodded, Stuart returned the nod. 

A strong gust of wind blew by, knocking mounds of pent up snow stuck to the pine canopy, and completely robbing the life of the fire in the group's center. Combined noises of disdain filled the group, but were stifled when the usual white noise of howling winds suddenly died down, leaving the atmosphere in a peaceful, almost eerie type air. 

"Well fuck. Best get on goin' until w-" One of the homeless' words were cut off abruptly due to a sudden shake of the brush nearby. All eyes turned towards the interval of rustling, that transferred from one bush to another. "Hey man, something's still alive in this frozen hell?" One raised his voice, and threw a rock into the congregation of bushes. 

...

Nothing. The rustling noise disappeared, as if it was only a mere trick of the wind. Stuart breathed out a sigh of relief, sharing the action with the rest of the group, who slowly trickled out sheepish chuckles. "Damn winds. Now let's get on movi-" 

Suddenly a gray, shaggy figure leaped out from the green brush, gleaming yellow eyes sharply staring right into the eyes of the group, as if all at once, they were under the spell of shock, then eventually growing terror as faint growling was heard from behind tree trunks, and nearby boulders. 

No one said a word as another gray-furred beast emerged slowly from a crevice underneath a few large rock formations. Three were out in the open now- Four- No, five. 

Five. All baring fangs, low continuous growls frothing cutting through the air, bright golden orbs staring daggers right into the men. 

As the beasts took slowly steps, pacing around the encircled group, one finally swallowed the lump in his throat to speak out. "Yo man, what.. The fuck? Why are wolves still alive 'round here?!" The panicked yell triggered the beasts, and all five snarled angrily, seemingly to grow their posture as the began their slow approach, one pad-foot at a time. 

They seemed like wolves, but Stuart thought them to be something else different. Sure, they were like wolves, but they were bigger. And more dire. 

_Dire wolves, hungry lookin' ones too._

_Just our fuckin' luck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of a short one, my apologies, but more will come, i swears. and please let me know about what you think, and if the new name i plan is any good, many a' thanks, friends

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first work on AO3 and i have no idea what to do, what are all these boxes and settings for, please i need an adult to guide me. but if you liked what you read, please let me know, and i hope you all enjoyed it.


End file.
